Camouflage (Predator and Prey #1)
Read Camouflage (Predator and Prey #1) Online
Authors: Angelica Chase
Camouflage
Predator and Prey, Book 1
Copyright © 2015 Angelica Chase
Editing by Edee M. Fallon at
Mad Spark Editing
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Jersey Girl & Co.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/ or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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For my readers, thank you for an incredible first year
.
There were a few things I knew about who I was and two words that described me: order and excellence. It was not vanity that led me to confess this, but fear. For as long as I’d been in charge of my own life, those two things have kept me motivated, kept me breathing.
I could blame the way I was on the way I had been received into the world. I wasn’t born in a hospital. No, my mother assured me I was born in the crosshairs of gunfire—in “a spray of bullets.” She would remind me every year we didn’t celebrate my birthday. And every day of my life, she encouraged me to believe I would go out the way I came in.
And for some reason, I had always believed her.
She was my mother, after all. I lived in a constant state of fear the first ten years of my life. Every gunshot I heard I assumed was a warning specifically for me. That my time was coming. The fear consumed me, was ingrained in me, and made my already desperate situation a hell that I had to dwell in until my escape.
As soon as the realization hit me that I didn’t have to become a product of my mother’s greasy fucking environment, I turned the tables on my pre-destined fate she cursed me with.
That’s when I discovered order, cause and effect. You see, I watched them. I’m good at that. I observed and interpreted. I’d always prided myself on knowing the good from the bad, and how to read people.
I’d been wrong only once, and I intended on keeping it that way. I had a past that kept me in shackles until I freed myself with excellence. It was my camouflage, my way of escape.
I became bulletproof.
Those eyes ...those fucking dark eyes were the reason for my trip, but if it didn’t pan out this time and I didn’t get his attention, I was giving up.
Look at you, Taylor Ellison, obsessing over a man.
And I should have been ashamed. I’d done everything in my power to get his attention without being too obvious. When my friend Violet had introduced me to
The Rabbit Hole
—a sex club just outside of Savannah—I’d been excited about the prospect of having my own Rhys, my own version of her beloved husband. He was a strong Dom with a good heart that treated her well. I didn’t want to have exactly what she had. But I did want something of my own.
I’d been working my ass off for so long that I’d almost lost sight of having a life completely. I needed more than an impressive bank account and a fast car. Though I’d reached my goal, I knew I needed something more to be satisfied. Months of worthless visits to
The Rabbit Hole
had turned my excitement into dread. I had frequented it in hopes of finding a man to suit my sexual taste. Nothing too crazy, but just to be sated would be enough for now. I’d fucked a few too many that led to dead ends.
I’d all but given up, until I saw
him
.
He was there each time I went, often alone at a table, sipping his drink, sometimes with friends. I’d seen him come and go but he had never taken on a member of the club. While there, he’d never visited the private rooms. The first time we made eye contact, I saw the recognition in his. There was a spark, an amount of heat.
Something
was there.
Maybe I was obsessing out of boredom. I closed my eyes tight in frustration as I sat in my car facing the double doors of the club.
This was it. If it didn’t happen tonight, I might have to find a date the old fashioned way.
But that was part of the problem. I didn’t date. I wasn’t good at the getting to know you aspect of the evening. I liked the fucking portion and had always preferred to get to that. I very much had the dating mentality of a twenty-one year old man—casual sex and nothing serious, no attachments, that sort of thing. I wasn’t against those in love and actually saw myself going down that road a time or two. I’d been hurt by a man I had affection for, and I was sure I would eventually try that again with the right person. But now, I was just restless. I needed a partner who understood my needs, my body. I’d been settling for far too long.
In my most figure revealing dress, I walked into The Hole and was greeted by Tara, a nice enough bartender who had often tried to strike up a conversation with me. It was obvious she swung both ways, which was fine, but not for me. I had serious issues when it came to women. I couldn’t stand ninety-nine percent of them. I guess you could say I was a tad bit of a misogynist. I preferred, and had always preferred, the company of men, whether as friends or fuck buddies.
It had a lot to do with my mentality. I didn’t find the conversations interesting, or the unnecessary drama appealing. I didn’t talk about feelings, or revel in a good pair of shoes. I’d tried—really, I had—but women weren’t especially receptive to my brand of honesty. The kind that wasn’t sugar-coated and saved time.
The only woman I had let even remotely close to knowing me, aside from Violet, was my work partner, Nina. She was the exact type of woman I most loathed when I met her: pretentious, all about appearance and image, and had an unnatural fascination with shoes. I never saw us becoming close, but ever since all that went down in her personal life, and because she had been so genuinely good to me, I had let her in a little. She had changed so drastically in the two years I’d known her.
Sitting at the bar now with a crisp chardonnay, I couldn’t help but be happy for her, if not a little envious. In the last few months, my friend Nina had come through a personal hell that would break most women. She had finally found her peace, and was now benefiting from the release of her struggle. While she was off on what could only be described as a new beginning, I was pining for a man I hadn’t uttered a single word to.
He was not here.
He’d always taken the table in the corner behind the frosted glass. The first time I’d seen him, I’d rapidly drank him in. He was tall, that much I knew from his stature in the oversized seating of the club. His inky hair was slightly long and styled back to cradle his ridiculously beautiful face. He had naturally dark skin. I guessed him to be of Hispanic descent. His attire was impeccable and mainly consisted of double breasted suits. His pleasure at the club seemed to be to sit back and observe. I liked that. It was a habit I had formed myself.
I pushed out a disappointed breath as I sipped my wine. It was time to let Mr. Mysterious go. The last time I’d seen him, we’d locked eyes for several minutes, neither of us turning away until he was approached by a beautiful brunette that left his table shortly after she had stopped. I refused to believe he was gay. I couldn’t see it, couldn’t fathom it. Not
this
man.
This is boredom. Go home and watch a CSI marathon.
As soon as I’d convinced myself to leave, he appeared at a barstool next to me, and I smirked into my wine as he spoke.
“I think it’s time we introduce ourselves.”
Definitely Hispanic.
“Taylor,” I offered as I turned in my seat to drink him in. He was close—so fucking close—and the feel of his eyes as they met mine made all my nerve endings light on fire. I sucked in a quick breath as he pushed his cropped hair away from his face. He looked all business aside from his contradictory hair. It was short enough to tame, but its unruly presence seemed to be a big ‘fuck you’ to the conservativeness of his dress.
“Daniello,” he rasped out with a thick accent. Maybe not Hispanic, but he didn’t look Italian, either. I couldn’t place it. I spoke three languages fluently yet had no clue which would belong to him, if any. But at that moment, that was the last thing on my mind. He was too perfect, too immaculate looking. This man was not southern grown. I’d fucked enough southern beauties to know this man was in a league of his own. His thick, silky hair was beautiful and almost feminine, but he could never be misconstrued as that due to the sheer size of him. I guessed his height at least a foot and half taller than mine. His build was just a hair shy of monstrous. My eyes wandered to the sprinkling of dark hair that covered his wrist as his hand descended to the tumbler of amber liquid delivered to him by Tara.
I’d never been intimidated...until that moment.
Fuck that, Taylor. Stick to order.
My eyes shot back up to him and I watched.
“Tell me exactly what you were thinking just then,” he mused with a whisper of a smile that tilted his full lips. His eyes weren’t dark up close; they’d changed to a lighter, more iridescent brown. I was mesmerized.
“That’s privilege you are asking for,” I stated plainly, my eyebrows raised in challenge.
“It is conversation,” he whispered low, so low I had to strain to hear it. “Would you prefer I asked you where you are from and what you do for a living?”
“Are you really interested in those things?” I replied as I took more of him in. If I could change anything, I wouldn’t. Not a single fucking thing. His broad features were chiseled to perfection. His skin was a beautiful hue of deep bronze that made his eyes shine brighter in contrast. Penetrating eyes looked back at me as I decided to give him an answer to his original question.
“I was thinking we’ve been playing cat and mouse,” I said bluntly. He smirked and heat spread through my midsection. I loved his size, the intimidation factor. My imagination was on fire with the possibilities. If he could see how clearly attracted I was to him, I was fine with it.
The look in his playful eyes told me my gamble to finally stop our charade might pay off.
“And which are you, Taylor? The cat or the mouse?” The ‘r’ of my name rolled off of his tongue and made my toes curl. Two things were clear to me in that moment.
I wanted to fuck this man.
And he would be very,
very
bad for me.
“You assume I’m one or the other. What If I’m both?”
He nodded as if he already knew my answer then turned to me before looking at the door where a few men were making their exit.
“Well, Taylor, it was a pleasure meeting you.” He gestured at Tara who winked at me as he stood. Deflated, I looked up at him with a curt, “You, too.”
“I look forward to more of our game.” Before I had a chance to respond, he was walking out the door.
“I have to say, I have never seen a better looking man come through those doors. I have no idea how you remained glued to your seat. You aren’t even sweating!” Tara exclaimed as I drummed my fingers on the bar.
“He’s just a man,” I muttered as I finished my wine and pulled my wallet out of my purse.
“He bought your wine and the next if you’d like another one.” Tara had the bottle in hand, cork ready as I nodded a yes.
“Why not?”
“Green or red?” A man took the stool next to me. He was referring to the level of kink I was into, which no longer seemed appealing. Neither did the club I’d frequented for months in vain. This would be my last trip.
“Neither,” I said coolly, trying my best not to show my disappointment as all my nerve endings settled back into the dull thrum they’d become accustomed to.
“I can give you what you are looking for,” he whispered, too close for comfort.
“I’m not interested,” I reiterated as I picked up my wine.
“I could—”
“Hey, asshole, you know the rules. Move on,” Tara defended as I kept my eyes on my wine. Tara was as brazen as her clown-colored, red hair. Her right arm was covered in tattoos and she had a rough look about her, but her face was soft and feminine.
“Thank you,” I whispered to Tara as the space next to me emptied.
“Don’t give up, girl. You will find your man,” she encouraged. I was suddenly irritated at the weakness I was showing and was more uncomfortable than I could remember being in years.
Knowing I would never see Tara again, I admitted the truth.
“There is no such thing for me.”
